-1989: National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation [a real benchmark or signpost…perhaps not as racy a National Lampoon’s Vacation, but still edgy enough to elicit laughter during “the decline of the West” (as Oswald Spengler put it)]

Which almost brings us to the unlikely masterpiece that is Kingpin.

Randy Quaid had been counted on by the National Lampoon franchise for his peerless role of Cousin Eddie.

By 1996, he would become a priceless asset for the makers of Kingpin.

It is hard to chart how we went from The Sound of Music to Kingpin…even with the help of the inestimable Beatles.

If we are to really reach our goal (an explanation), we must follow the followers–the children of The Beatles.

-1970: Syd Barrett was still bloody mad (and brilliant) on The Madcap Laughs [especially the song “No Good Trying”]

-1973: Pink Floyd changed the cultural landscape with Dark Side of the Moon (perhaps presaging the space/aliens films which would preoccupy family film makers in the coming years)

-Brian Eno melted many minds with his masterpiece Here Come the Warm Jets (complete with the balding artist on the cover in drag)

But we missed something significant:

Led Zeppelin.

If the 1970s belonged to any one band, it was this one.

-their first two albums were released in 1969

-by the time of Led Zeppelin III (1970), they were competing against overt (though clownish) occultists like Black Sabbath [Jimmy Page of Zeppelin being a more covert, zealous admirer of Aleister Crowley]

–Led Zeppelin IV was released in 1971

–Houses of the Holy saw the light of day in 1973

–Physical Graffiti dropped in 1975

But as Led Zeppelin began to peter out, another group picked up the slack and streamlined the music. Their message was as tough as their humor was bawdy.

AC/DC slapped the world with High Voltage (1976), Let There Be Rock (1977), and other masterpieces which made for a loud world.

But music was just getting started in asserting its agenda for Hollywood.

Iggy Pop dropped two masterpieces in 1977. One light and tough (Lust for Life), and the other a much darker affair (The Idiot).

But the real earthquake…the real force which rent the curtain in the temple was Nevermind the Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols.

From this album in 1977, nothing was ever the same again.

And so the film under consideration, Kingpin, was born from many decades of broken taboos.

Some would call this “progressive” (and then proceed to solicit a donation).

Oswald Spengler might rightly have called it The Decline of the West.

But in the case of Kingpin, I can only call it funny.

I can’t pass judgement on film since 1965.

As to whether it is fit for families to view together.

But I can pass judgement on this film insofar as its most important merit.

It’s damned funny!

I was Munsoned by Cinema Paradiso. Long ago.

I thought I had a chance. But I was Amish. I just didn’t know it yet.

But let’s first start by talking about the dirtbags who frame this film.

#1 is Woody Harrelson (though he starts as just a protégé).

Woody has had an interesting life.

When I was growing up in San Antonio, one of our family shows to watch after the 10 p.m. news was Cheers. This gave us great comfort. Great laughs. And Woody played the character Woody Boyd. One of the bright spots of a great television cast.

But Woody Harrelson’s dad was a hitman (in real life). And he killed (in 1979) U.S. federal judge John H. Wood Jr. right here in my hometown: San Antonio.

It was a drug hit. Harrelson’s father hired for $250,000 to shoot and kill this judge outside of his home. The drug dealer who hired Harrelson got 30 years. Harrelson got life in jail.

Harrelson denied in court that he killed Judge Wood. He claimed he just took credit for it so he could collect the money.

Well, all of this backstory fits quite nicely into the dirtbag saint Woody Harrelson plays in Kingpin.

#2 is Bill Murray. Bill is an old hand (no pun intended). Bill’s character teaches Woody a lot, but Bill’s a real bastard in this film. Of course, this is a comedy. So his ostentatious cruelty is worth a few snickers here and there.

At this point it is worth mentioning the twisted (gifted) minds which brought us this film: the Farrelly brothers.

Peter Farrelly (whose birthday is two day away) and his slightly-younger brother Bobby Farrelly.

You might know them from their work such as Dumb and Dumber and the Jonathan-Richman-chalked There’s Something About Mary.

[N.B. Richman makes a great cameo in Kingpin. We may not have Lou Reed anymore, but thank God for Jonathan!]

The action of our film shifts from Ocelot, Iowa (“Instead of a dentured ocelot on a leash…”) to hard-scrabble Scranton, Pennsylvania.

[home of “Creepy” Joe Biden]

Randy Quaid (#MAGA) is fantastic as an Amish rube with a promising set of bowling skills.

Somewhere along the way, the opportunistic Harrelson becomes Quaid’s manager.

I got great joy out of seeing this.

Because there are few more difficult things than managing “personalities”.

I’ve done it.

Now I have an advanced degree in management.

And still, I know…it’s hard!

But back to family films.

This IS a family film.

But it is also an example of what the family film has become.

In general, this picture would not be suitable for young children to view.

That’s just my opinion.

But perhaps it’s a subgenre of family film.

It’s something which parents with high-school-aged kids MIGHT be able to enjoy with their children.

But I leave that discretion up to the parents.

Because the Farrelly brothers like to SHOCK!

It’s funny. They’re good at it. It has a point. But it might be too lewd for some families.

Speaking of which, it is a quite interesting device with which the Farrellys chose to frame their film: the Amish.

It borders on surreal, but this bawdy comedy always has the temperate presence of the Amish throughout.

In a certain way, I think it does great honor to the Amish.

From an entertainment perspective, it’s genius.

But this is also a road movie.

And we know strange things happen on the road.

I was just so impressed by Woody Harrelson’s acting. It’s effortless. Flawless.

And I was equally impressed by Randy Quaid’s naïveté. Truly an acting coup!

But the film gets REALLY interesting when Vanessa Angel hops on the bandwagon!!

Remember her from Spies Like Us, emerging from that snow-covered tent in her underwear?

Yeah, that’s her.

And it turns out that she’s a very good actress!

Ah, but thank God for condoms!!!

At the end, you will feel proud of your efforts.

To walk out the door everyday into a corrupt world.

We are all sinners.

But music saves us.

“Bad Reputation” by Freedy Johnston is a revelation.

And makes me wistfully recall my last days as a professional musician.

“I Want Candy” is such a tough beat! The Strangeloves!!!

“I Saw the Light” by Todd Rundgren is magical music at a magical moment in this film.

“Showdown” by Electric Light Orchestra is the perfect tune to pit Murray against Harrelson.

But the real eyeopener was hearing “Something in the Air” by Thunderclap Newman.

This is really a quality picture…reminiscent of another 70s gem: Phantom of the Paradise.

There’s just something really mysterious and compelling about Futureworld.

Sex with robots!

Jim Antonio is the Clark Griswold equivalent of Clifton James in Live and Let Die and The Man with the Golden Gun.

And so this is essential viewing for fans of the recent Ex Machina.

Sadly, director Richard T. Heffron is no longer with us.

And, yes, this is a sequel to the Michael Crichton film Westworld, but Futureworld stands alone.

Peter Fonda is the Ur- Jarvis Cocker. And really some fine acting from Peter.

Blythe Danner is outstanding.

Stuart Margolin is very strong.

We get journalism, robots, cloning…the works.

Think Hillary Clinton has a robot/clone double?

This film appeared on Hulu at a particularly suspicious time as regards that canard.

But see the film and you might not think it’s so crazy after all.

Doubles of world leaders.

That’s the master plan.

It’s not giving much away to tell you that.

That is, after all, the elevator pitch for the film itself.

And it is compelling.

Retina scanners, biometrics, psychic driving, Antonin Artaud…

This was both advanced and historical for 1976.

Ahead and behind.

Which is to say, completely plausible.

The only hilariously bad moments (ok, there’s quite a few) are the guns which seemingly came from the set of the first Star Wars film. Said guns completely destroy suspended disbelief (more than any actual target).

The Westworld tragedy supposedly claimed the lives of about 50 guests.

Pretty close to the fake Pulse nightclub shooting (49).

That being the exact number of the Maidan snipers’ massacre in Kiev (49).

And with Pulse we are there in theme park central.

Disney.

Alligator.

Same week.

Orlando.

Robots are all around us today.

The drones that kill innocent people in Pakistan.

And the driverless cars rolled out by Uber this past week in Pittsburgh.

[I better watch what I say or Emil Michael will sic his opposition research wet dreams on me.]

So yes…we probably have Northrop Grumman to thank for 9/11 (Global Hawk).

All around us. Automation. Lovely.

Watch Futureworld and you will see the technocratic extension of Operation Mockingbird.

Mimic. Opinion leaders. Memetics.

The gene and the meme. Dawkins was right on it.

In the same year. 1976.

Sure, this film is not very precise in some regards.

Are they all robots?

Clones?

Hybrids?

It’s not very clear.

I highly recommend this film for connoisseurs of Baudrillard.

This whole film is an orgy of simulation.

[Though, with a PG rating, not a simulation of an orgy.]

Interesting note…a significant portion of this film was shot “at NASA” in Houston.

When our extended family got together we would also share in the laughs from this little masterpiece.

Yes, Tim Conway and Don Knotts are essentially two Jacques Clouseaux in the same movie.

Knotts is a bit more of the straight man (in comedy parlance), but both are fumbling/bumbling idiots.

And that is, of course, why we love them.

Though The Private Eyes borrows heavily from the Pink Panther series, it has a charm of its own.

Filmed at the historic Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina (the largest privately-owned mansion in the U.S.), The Private Eyes is a good-natured film full of secret passageways and “spooky” scenes which are tame enough for a young audience. In fact, I would heartily recommend this as a Halloween movie fit for all ages.

Directed by Lang Elliott (who doesn’t even have a stub [red link] on Wikipedia), this film has aged fairly well. The only drawback is if one is familiar with Peter Sellers’ oeuvre. That’s the sad part about watching a plethora of films. On the one hand you see where all the influences came from (and that, in itself, is rewarding). On the other hand, you see where all the influences came from (and said influences might oft times be a bit too liberally lifted).

Ah, but this is the movies 🙂 Not cinema. Not hoighty-toighty. Hell, I don’t even know if I spelled that right. And I’m not gonna look. Because that’s entertainment. You just go with it. Comedy. Make ’em laugh!

Special mention should go to the sultry Trisha Noble who plays the role of Phyllis Morley. You might know her as Padmé’s mother in Revenge of the Sith. [Sorry, I refuse to write the whole title of that atrocious Star Wars film.]

Also worth mention (in the same vein) is Suzy Mandel who plays Hilda.

John Fujioka is quite funny as the samurai chef Mr. Uwatsum. His rapport with Tim Conway is pretty priceless.

Bernard Fox is very convincing as the insane butler Justin.

But let’s get to the point, shall we? Grace Zabriskie is certainly perfect in the part of Nanny (very Lotte Lenya) [not to be confused with Alotta Fagina], but…

we should dedicate this review to the late Irwin Keyes who played the role of Jock (Jacques?) the hunchback. Such a pithy role to portray a man with no tongue. And Irwin did it well. Mr. Keyes passed away only a few months ago and so it is appropriate that we honor his small but important contribution to this timelessly enjoyable film.

But remember, kids…next time someone asks you why you painted a picture of Don Knotts, just tell ’em (like Enid Coleslaw in Ghost World), “Because…I just, like Don Knotts.” Take it from Thora Birch… She has the right idea! And if they still don’t leave you alone, tell ’em about wookalars 🙂 [boy, oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy…this buzzard pus is really starting to back up on me…]

This one starts really bad. Bollocks bad! But let’s face it: there may be nothing more difficult in this world than making a great James Bond movie. Many have tried. Few have succeeded. It is an unenviable task because the series is so laden with baggage. And so this installment definitely has the feel of a “comeback” (what with the six years in between episodes). Bringing Bond into a new age is a daunting endeavor.

I don’t know if it helps or hurts that the six-year gap is accompanied by a new 007. Pierce Brosnan starts a little vanilla, but he heats up throughout the course of this picture. Judy Dench is powerful in her limited screen-time as M: head of MI6. Overall, Martin Campbell does a fine job directing this addition to the legacy. But it’s not all roses.

Bond’s getaway stunt in the Pilatus PC-6 Porter seems to defy the laws of physics. To wit: the plane is flying almost straight down and yet Brosnan catches up to it in freefall. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the heavier object (the plane) would fall at least as fast as Bond (the other object: human) especially since the human has no propeller attached to his head. I am not an expert on the law of falling bodies (if you can call it that). What a drag! Per second, per second.

But we suspend disbelief as a matter of course for these films (or else we don’t watch).

Mercifully, a convincing villain enters the picture after some further pointless meanderings and baccarat. Simply put, Famke Janssen is what Grace Jones should have been in A View to a Kill. That’s no disrespect to Jones. Grace cut a much more iconic figure, but Janssen’s sadomasochistic character and her immersed portrayal of the same make for much more enthralled viewing in this respect.

But another problem presents itself with the helicopter theft. Supposing that Severnaya (in the film) is the same as Severnaya Zemlya (both are Siberian/Russian arctic), then we are talking about a 3000 mile trip from Monte Carlo in a chopper. That’s a lot of gas. It’s just a clunky bit of storytelling.

But again Famke Janssen comes to the rescue with her wargasm reaction to machine-gunning a bunch of Russian cyber-defense workers. Yes, it’s like something out of the poetry of Ed Sanders. In fact, her bloodlust with an automatic weapon mirrors Christopher Walken’s in A View to a Kill.

But one young programmer escapes. All it takes is one. Izabella Scorupco is really fantastic in this film…especially as she tries to make her way out of the destroyed space weapons base. Her acting throughout is very convincing.

Janus. Films. It’s a nice touch on the part of the writer Michael France. Kinda like Joe Don Baker. We remember him vaguely as Brad Whitaker (the villain) from The Living Daylights, but here we see the other face: Jack Wade of the CIA. Sneaky device there. Perhaps.

But most likely it was just to reward a member of the Bond family with another role. Who can forget Maud Adams in her two Bond series roles (nine years apart).

Robbie Coltrane is great in his tiny role. It’s kinda like the Bond girl innuendo…Onatopp. You have to look for it. It’s there, but it’s no Pussy Galore.

Really, it is a shock when we find out what happened to 006.

But again, the “death by Tiger helicopter” scene is pretty preposterous. This Janus guy certainly has a moronic streak in him…even if he is creative.

Gottfried John is pretty damned convincing in this film as well.

What’s not convincing (though it is entertaining) is Pierce Brosnan driving a tank. Or rather, how is this tank keeping pace with a powerful sedan? The Guinness record for a tracked vehicle (tank tread) is 51 mph. Suffice it to say that this scene really stretches the bounds of reality. The funniest part is that Brosnan’s hair is never messed up. It’s perfect even though he plows through walls…kicking up concrete dust. We never see him close the hatch, yet not a speck of white on him (though the tank be littered with bricks and other debris from the endless rampage of cavalier driving).

The armoured train is a nice touch (though it only figures into a brief portion of the film).

The EMP theme is still relevant, but the film pays a strange homage to the Star Wars franchise in the end struggle on the antenna structure (a rather tasteless bit of copying). This is balanced out with some nice fight scenes which are some of the best in any Bond film.

I should really mention Sean Bean. He is pretty damned good in this flick. It’s funny that he later plays essentially the same role in National Treasure.

One brilliant bit is that with the pen grenade. This might be director Campbell’s finest moment in the film. Brosnan plays it perfectly…reminding us that attention to detail can make all the difference.

It’s too bad Alan Cumming had to be the bad guy (though his name perfectly fits the perverted Boris character). I guess he wasn’t inwincible after all. Haha! And don’t forget Minnie Driver singing “Stand by Your Man” with a Russian accent.

This was Lewis Gilbert’s best Bond film (which isn’t saying very much). This film straddles the line between good and bad filmmaking for its entirety. At the end it’s hard to say just which has edged the other out in predomination.

Something tells me the director in question is less to blame for these debacles than I had previously thought. It seems that there was an artless voice from above which was exerting pressure upon our metteur en scène. Was it perhaps Albert Broccoli?

Enough with the finger-pointing. Let’s talk about why this film is bad (and occasionally good).

The opening sequence is quite masterful. It is, in fact, to these eyes more impressive than the feted ski jump from The Spy Who Loved Me. And so, from the start, we are back in the company of dear old Jaws (Richard Kiel). Any question as to whether he survived the fall from a plane sans parachute is answered quite quickly in the opening credits. His name is prominent enough (comes quickly after the top-billed stars) that we assume (and correctly) that he did indeed live through the plunge. It is just this sort of clumsy filmmaking which typifies Gilbert’s contributions to the series. This daft touch even shows up at the end of the opening credits when the last chord of the song carries over like a maudlin, syrupy blanket into the shot of Q milling about in M’s office. It is like we are watching Days of Our Lives. One can hardly take such careless filmmaking seriously.

At least Holly Goodhead continues a string of success regarding the names of Bond girls.

Perhaps the most telling S.O.S. from Lewis Gilbert is the obvious homage to Jean Renoir’s La Règle du jeu. As Drax and his hunting party are taking leisure in sportsmanship, his assistants are swatting at the tree trunks with sticks or canes to scare the birds into the air. Only the finest of minds would work this deft reference into such an otherwise brutish series.

The bit atop Sugarloaf Mountain is generally delightful. Perhaps Wes Anderson had this in mind when he plotted the funicular rendezvous in The Grand Budapest Hotel. Jaws meeting the buxom, bespectacled Dolly is just impossibly cute (with the strains of Tchaikovsky in the background). In a final bit of touching panache, Jaws switches allegiances to help out Bond and Goodhead. It is actually a masterful stroke in a series rife with pithy henchmen. We even get to hear Kiel’s voice for once (after he pops a champagne cork by prying it off with his metal teeth).

The film really gets bad when it tries to not only relive the glory of Thunderball, but also tries to transpose that elusive magic into the milieu of Star Wars. To say that the outer-space laser battle has not aged well would be a fairly grand understatement. Of particular offence are the sound effects which make Oskar Sala’s noises from The Birds sound like Mozart by comparison. The lasers sound so cheap and doinky that the entire mise-en-scène falls apart.

Gilbert didn’t really have a very persuasive Bond girl to work with either. Lois Chiles has about as much personality as a wet rag. Likewise, we are subject to “villain fail” once again. Michael Lonsdale is merely a sweaty schlub who happens to have the same tailor as Chairman Mao. Toshiro Suga is comedically unmenacing. Corinne Cléry would have made a much better Bond girl. At least her demise at the hand (paw?) of dogs was unique to the series thus far.

Truth be told: Blanche Ravalec is the most attractive girl in this movie (with honorable mention to the redhead and the short-haired blonde in Drax’s “ark”).

But saving the most important for last, let us try and deconstruct after Derrida. The positively worst, most abrupt cut in the entire series happens when Bond is ejected from the back of an ambulance onto a road in Rio. With absolutely no segue, we next see him on a horse in full vaquero costume. It is at this point that the movie becomes so absurdly bad and ineptly surreal. In truth, the whole film hinges on this one amateurish cut. And it is from analyzing outwards (concentrically) that I assume Lewis Gilbert was subject to a maltreatment akin to that suffered by Orson Welles post-Kane. No director deserves to be so abused.